Filthy Little Mudblood
by Pallas Fire
Summary: This is a one-shot of what I gather might've happened when young Draco returned home from Hogwarts in their first year. It's heavily influenced by the Dramione ship, and was written as my presumption on how Lucius Malfoy might've prohibited the development of that relationship. Quite simple, quite short, and well, I hope it's not complete rubbish! Tell me what you think!


Since Draco had returned home for the summer after his first year at Hogwarts, he had been talking up a storm. No matter what time of day it was, he was telling either Narcissa or Lucius about his time there. how He mentioned that he loved Potions class because Professor Snape had taken an instant liking to him, and would look the other way whenever Draco began acting up. He said that he hated Transfiguration because Professor McGonogall was too strict, and he really couldn't see much point in the course. He talked of catching up on sleep in History, because no one could really be expected to listen to a ghost drone on and on about things that happened hundreds of years ago. But more than anything, he spoke of Hermione Granger.

" Of course Professor McGonogall really loves that Hermione Granger," Draco was chattering away one evening as his mother took off her cloak and handed it to a house elf. " On the first day of Transfiguration, Granger was the only one who turned her match into a needle. At least that's what I heard."

" That's nice dear," Narcissa said absently, for as much as she loved the boy, this topic had begun to bore her.

" Well yeah, it was pretty impressive," Draco continued, following his mother to the staircase. " And then, in Potions, Professor Snape was making a fool out of Potter, which doesn't take much, mind you. But he was asking him all of these difficult questions, and the whole while Granger was jumping about with her hand in the air. That girl probably knows more than most of the teachers at the school, probably even than Dumbledore."

" Draco, darling," Narcissa cut in quickly, looking longingly up the staircase. " Mother's had a long day. Why don't you go badger your father or, perhaps Dobby?"

" Alright, I suppose," Draco groaned, his mother bending down to place a kiss atop his head.

Draco shuffled through the Manor, finding the door to his father's study ajar. Lucius Malfoy was sitting in a chair behind a desk, a newspaper in one hand and a shooter in the other, a nearly full bottle of Firewhiskey on his desk. He didn't look up from his newspaper when he spoke.

" What?" His voice was a slow drawl, radiating with disinterest and annoyance.

" I was just looking for Dobby," Draco told his father, in an equally disinterested voice. Speaking to Lucius Malfoy was an acquired talent, but after 11 years of living with the man, Draco had pretty much got a handle on it. You mustn't care too much about anything. " Thought I'd share a few more stories with the barmy little elf."

" You're not to tell Dobby anymore stories about that blasted school," Lucius said coolly, still not looking up from his newspaper. " It seems he's developed a bit of an obsession with the famous Harry Potter, and I won't have you fuelling it further."

" I won't mention that complete prat, then," Draco told his father impatiently," It's not him I want to talk about anyway, it's—"

" It's Miss Hermione Granger," Lucius replied evenly, looking up at his son who seemed shocked. " Miss Hermione Granger who ought to have been sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor, who was the only one able to turn the match into the needle in McGonogall's class. Miss Hermione Granger who knew all the answers to the difficult questions Professor Snape was asking Potter. Miss Hermione Granger who you believe stopped Potter and Weasley from getting caught when you lured them out late at night with the proposition of a midnight duel. Miss Hermione Granger who you suppose must've been the one to perform the countercurse on Longbottom after you jinxed him with the Leg-Locker, as she's probably the only one with enough brains to know how. Miss Hermione Granger who must be quite a Quidditch fan, as she didn't even notice you and Weasley wrestling about next to her when Potter caught the snitch. Miss Hermione Granger who you'd wished you'd been paired with during your detention in the Forbidden Forest, as she was bound to be loads more use than either Longbottom or Potter. Miss Hermione Granger who at the end of the year feast earned fifty points for what Dumbledore called 'cool logic in the face of fire' and helped Gryffindor beat out Slytherin for the House Cup."

Draco's mouth had been gaping open slightly, as his father recounted some stories that he must've uttered over a dozen times. Each time, however, his father had appeared to be blatantly apathetic to the tales, and had even seemed to not have heard him.

Lucius Malfoy eyed his son, who instinctively closed his mouth.

" I wonder…" Lucius said quietly, narrowing his eyes at Draco's form.

" What?" Draco said, more sharply than he'd intended.

" Mind your tongue, boy," Lucius said coldly, a hint of warning in his voice. After a beat, he set down his newspaper and while still eyeing his young son said, " Perhaps Dobby's not the only one fixated on something wretched."

Draco's face was frozen, his heart beat quickening a little as his father watched Malfoy took his shot of Firewhiskey quickly, setting it down on the desk with a light clink.

" Granger, Granger," Lucius murmured, casting his eyes skyward as if trying to urge himself to remember something. Looking back at Draco, he said, " No, I daresay I know of no pureblood family's with that name. In fact,I can't even think of a half-blood with that name; Granger."

When he rose, he moved round the desk to face Draco. Peering down at Draco from his substantial height, his pale grey eyes locked onto his son's bright ones, Lucius seemed to be appraising him.

" Draco, don't tell me you fancy that filthy little mudblood," Even as he spoke, his nose crinkled in disgust as though he had just smelled something putrid.

Draco had realised as his father spoke that he had not asked a question. In fact, Draco could tell quite clearly that only one response would do. There was only one thing that Lucius Malfoy wanted to hear at this moment, and it most certainly wasn't the truth.

" What? What-no!" Draco exclaimed quickly, taken aback, his eyes widening in horror. He immediately regretted this decision, knowing he'd replied too quickly, too passionately for his father's liking.

" The fact that Dumbledore accepts the likes of _that_ into his school sickens me as it is," Lucius spoke clearly, his words clipped with rage. " But to imagine my own boy, a Malfoy, fancying and cavorting with such rubbish, such sewage. It's enough to tempt me to use an  
Unforgiveable Curse, torture it out of you, perchance."

Draco didn't know if his father was serious or not, but he wasn't going to wait to find out.  
" Of-of course I don't fancy that…" Draco paused as he contemplated saying the word he'd heard his father say more times than he could count. " That m-mudblood."

Lucius kept his eyes on his son, as Draco's mouth curved upward into a sneer of contempt. He felt somewhat dirtier after saying that word, and his face betrayed that.

" Good," Lucius said, seemingly satisfied as he turned away from his son to return to his desk. He had, evidently, taken Draco's sneer as a sign of disgust towards the girl they were speaking of. Pouring another shot glass of firewhiskey carefully, Lucius continued, " If it's a girl you're after, you're much better suited for a Slytherin girl, anyhow. Like young Miss Parkinson."

" Pansy's alright," Draco said half-heartedly, as Pansy tended to get on his nerves a bit. " Anyway, I never fancied Granger, I just thought she was rather clever."

" You should say such things with shame, boy," Lucius threw a sharp look at Draco. " You, a pureblood wizard, doing abysmally in nearly everything while this mudblood girl is the top of every class."

" You know what Hogwarts is like," Draco said to his father, almost earnestly seeking approval. " The teachers have all got favourites. And she's mates with Potter and Weasley, and the teachers really love the three of them."

" Yes, well, she'd better not do better than you again next year," Lucius said, raising his newspaper again. " There is never cause for a pureblood to be doing poorly in school when someone without any magical blood at all seems to be doing swimmingly."

" But—" Draco began again.

Surely his father, who had never met Hermione Granger, couldn't know that she wasn't simply a girl without magical lineage. She was no normal girl, no person who you could beat out for good grades. It was almost otherworldly how much she seemed to know, how precise her answers were, how majestic her voice was when it pattered away about things no one else knew.

" Leave my study, Draco," Lucius said monotonously, not bothering to glance over his newspaper once more. " The subject has bored me."

As Draco left his father's study, walking down the hallways of Malfoy Manor, he thought back to the bushy haired girl with all of the answers. She was enticingly brilliant, entrancing him for some strange reason. Perhaps she was a veela, Draco thought with a smirk, and had some magical blood in her after all.

But Draco knew his father was right. Hermione Granger was a muggle-born witch. She had no magical ancestry, but rather dirty, muggle blood. At least, that was what he'd always been taught. And Draco recalled his father's threat of torturing it out of him, which he now reckoned his father might've done. Lucius Malfoy would do anything to avoid tainting the  
family name.

As young as he was, Draco realized that Hermione Granger was the exact opposite of the type of person he should be interested in. Not only was her blood unclean, but she was a Gryffindor who valued bravery and all of that other sodding foolishness that distinctly separated his house from hers. Then there was also her liaisons with Potter and Weasley, the two people he loathed most. She'd be impossible to get on with, obviously.

" I don't care," Draco muttered under his breath, rounding a corner to escape the corridor he was in. " I don't care about Granger anyway. She's just as father says. She's just a…a filthy little mudblood."

And Draco found that though he still felt repulsed to say that word or even think it, he could mask the look of revulsion on his face much better the second time around. And then even better the third.


End file.
